William Throndsen, Thomas Berker and Espen B. Knoll
ZEB Project report 25 – 2015
Powerhouse Kjørbo.
Evaluation of construction process
and early use phase
William Throndsen, Thomas Berker and Espen B. Knoll
Powerhouse Kjørbo. Evaluation of construction process and early use phase
ZEB Project report 25 – 2015 SINTEF Academic Press
ZEB Project report no 25
William Throndsen1), Thomas Berker1) and Espen B. Knoll1)
Powerhouse Kjørbo. Evaluation of construction process and early use phase Keywords:
post occupancy evaluation, construction process, zero emission building, usability, domestication ISSN 1893-157X (online)
ISSN 1893-1561
ISBN 978-82-536-1486-1 (pdf) ISBN 978-82-536-1488-5 (printed) Illustration on front page:
Ketil Jacobsen
24 copies printed by AIT AS e-dit Content: 100 g Scandia Cover: 240 g Trucard
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Acknowledgement
This report has been written within the Research Centre on Zero Emission Buildings (ZEB). The authors gratefully acknowledge the support from the Research Council of Norway, BNL – Federation of
construction industries, Brødrene Dahl, ByBo, DiBK – Norwegian Building Authority, Caverion Norge AS, DuPont, Entra, Forsvarsbygg, Glava, Husbanken, Isola, Multiconsult, NorDan, Norsk Teknologi, Protan, SAPA Building Systems, Skanska, Snøhetta, Statsbygg, Sør-Trøndelag Fylkeskommune, and Weber.
Contents
1. SUMMARIES ... 5
1.1 SUMMARY OF PART 1: DESIGNING AND BUILDING A ZERO EMISSION BUILDING ... 5
1.2 SUMMARY OF PART 2: TAKING A ZERO EMISSION OFFICE BUILDING IN USE ... 6
2. INTRODUCTION ... 8
3. THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK: DOMESTICATION ... 9
4. METHODS ... 11
5. PART 1: THE CO-CONSTRUCTION OF A POWERHOUSE ... 12
5.1 THE DESIGN (PRE‐PROJECT) PHASE ... 12
5.2 THE ENERGY ACCOUNT AS CENTRE OF COLLABORATION ... 13
5.3 THE DETAILING (PROJECT) PHASE ... 16
5.4 A CASE FOR A DIFFERENT CONTRACT FRAMEWORK WHEN PILOTING ... 19
6. PART 2: USER ACCEPTANCE, EXPECTATIONS AND NEGOTIATIONS ... 21
6.1 LIGHTS ... 21
6.2 VENTILATION ... 22
6.3 ACOUSTICS ... 24
6.4 OUT OF THE ORDINARY?... 26
6.5 THE SUM OF EXPERIENCE ... 26
6.6 THE USER AS “DATA SOURCE” FOR THE COMFORT THRESHOLD ... 27
7. IN LIEU OF A CONCLUSION: THE THREE QUALITIES OF PH KJØRBO ... 30
7.1 QUALITY 1: GOOD FOR THE BOTTOM LINE ... 30
7.2 QUALITY 2: SHOWING THAT IT CAN BE DONE AND THAT IT CAN BE DONE BEAUTIFULLY ... 30
7.3 QUALITY 3: SKILFULLY WEAVING A WEB OF OCCUPANTS, COMPONENTS AND ARCHITECTURE ... 31
8. REFERENCES ... 32
1. Summaries
1.1 Summary of part 1: Designing and building a zero emission building As a tool for cross-disciplinary collaboration, energy and emissions calculations were central as common reference point throughout the whole process studied here. Considering only the design phase, it is clear that particularly the energy account was useful in defining both the necessary amount of work and the methods of the collaborative work. One of the merits was its ability to force each participant onto neutral ground based on shared information and work requirements. The energy account served as a boundary object (Star 2010) in this way as it provided “something” around which to collaborate across disciplinary boundaries and something that could translate different disciplinary specialities into a mutually comparable success criterion: the primary energy factor. The primary energy factor was both the what and the why of this collaboration, simultaneously a process of creation and a guiding force.
The effort that went into creating the energy account and collaboration in workshops, which were employed as a sort of management tool, were argued by some informants to have made the process
‘heavy on the nose’. This was largely due to design aspects and the signal effect, which was important for PH Kjørbo as a pilot project. As this was a pilot project, it has received a certain degree of special attention from all involved institutions. The participants describe the special requirements connected to this building as
trust in the concept,
broad participation in the project’s definition process,
trust between partners, and
high level decision making at the different partners’ companies to cater to an acceptable risk allocation for all parts.
According to the respondents, the design process benefited much from the oversight of a dedicated process manager, a role that was served by one of the project’s senior architects. In fact, many respondents noted the exact point in time when the process manager exited the project was also the point when the project encountered problems.
The participants agree that “closeness” (in terms of frequent communication both face-to-face and by other means) between the central and defining actors in the project team was a key to success. Failures accrued once the distance between actors increased due to their involvement in other projects.
According to respondents, one important role for a process manager in the later stages could have been as a liaison between project management levels (contractor) and subcontractors. Some problems that appeared in this phase involved the sheer disbelief shared by the subcontractors when they first became acquainted with the calculations, the functional demands, and the specifications that had resulted from the design process - a process they knew little about. This constituted a failure on behalf of the PH collaboration to translate the concept to the hired hands, which complicated the execution phase.
Contract frameworks were also mentioned as a contributing source of errors as turnkey contract frameworks dis-incentivised subcontractors from making order changes also after they were clearly deemed necessary by consulting engineers. This is not an unusual mode of contracting in the
construction business from a traditional viewpoint and could perhaps prove to work better in the future as the concept matures along with the market. A greater level of detailing in the design phase is one way to address this. However, in light of the experiences gathered at PH Kjørbo, the question is whether a more collaborative framework could have been applied to allow subcontractors to identify and share in
the risk taking with the main contractors and/or project owner - or, in fact, to take part in the social learning that occurs as actors make the project ‘their own’. One way to incentivise junior contractors to join in more time-consuming, perhaps less profitable, contract arrangements could be to highlight the skill and knowledge development benefits available for participants in such projects. This would, however, require some proof of concept to be sufficiently translated into a clear added value for
suppliers. At this juncture, the newly constructed Powerhouse is one such proof. In replicating elements of the Kjørbo project, it is likely that resources can be saved on design and parts of the pre-project phase. However, to avoid the amount of order changes seen in the execution of PH Kjørbo (especially for different projects), more resources must be spent on learning for junior contractors.
Finally, the symbolic value that was characteristic of Powerhouse Kjørbo contributed to both its ability to be realised and concrete benefits for actors involved in the time after completion. Many have drawn parallels between PH Kjørbo and Tesla, implying that PH Kjørbo is for the building industry what that electric car is for the automotive industry. As many of the respondents emphasised, the building is a statement that says “it’s possible.” The goal had never been accomplished, let alone attempted, before, and success hinged on the project participants’ belief in that final statement. A radically different approach combined with an ambitious goal made that belief possible, and it was reinforced by the interdisciplinary work that was the basis of the project. This extra effort was a necessity in this project, but it might not be in the next. Some of it can most likely be implemented in other projects. However, as this report also demonstrates, picking pieces out of the success story PH Kjørbo may not yield equally impressive results because there is a connection between the pieces that is important for the whole building to succeed.
1.2 Summary of part 2: Taking a zero emission office building in use
The second part of this report examined the early use phase of PH Kjørbo, which was undertaken by local actors with the tenant as well as the project team. Although it is clear that the planning and design phase and the technological solutions played important roles in the success of PH Kjørbo, the way in which the running-in period was handled contributed some crucial finishing touches to the users’ overall very positive experience with PH Kjørbo. Notwithstanding the technical calibrations themselves (which are outside the purview of this inquiry), the way user expectations were met by specific consideration of practical and cognitive aspects of the use of the building created a good use experience and not just an energy-saving machine. Great care was taken to prevent technical shortcomings from interfering with work and causing frustrations, even when it has compromised energy targets temporarily. A positive use experience was considered “elementary”, an attitude that, at least in theory, denied allowing money to become an issue in this pulling contest between energy efficiency and user experience. Challenges experienced in the running-in period overall were experienced by the tenant as lower or not above what was considered normal based on experience with previous moving processes.
In PH Kjørbo the ventilation system was allowed to let temperatures drift more than in a normal building.
However, this system also proved that indoor temperatures experienced as normal do not necessarily require them to stay consistently at “22.2 degrees” - in fact, a drift in temperature between 20-25 degrees was found to be perfectly acceptable by the occupants. Temperatures in the lower end of this range were considered cold by some but were manageable by providing information and handling practical and cognitive expectations - or, simply speaking, a sweater kept handy. Indoor temperatures in the top range or above, should they occur at all in the Nordic climate, are equally badly handled in most Norwegian buildings, according to the informants. Again, handling users’ expectations with care in this phase proved helpful in improving user acceptance.
This same characteristic of the running-in period at PH Kjørbo was found when examining the acoustic
users who were used to extremely silent conditions. Addressing the reasons for the design choices openly (thermal mass) allowed users to settle into their new surroundings. As one of the respondents noted, when viewing the experience of this particular building as a whole, the somewhat increased noise levels caused by scarce sound roofing due to a minimal ventilation system meant that the ventilation noise normally endured in other buildings was totally eliminated, but the indoor climate was still described as extremely good. The result was a sum of experiences that evidently surpassed any conventional building.
PH Kjørbo shows that treating the user as a form of “sensor” and devoting resources to the “processing”
of information from such “sensors” in the running-in period provides substantial insight into the user experience that is crucial for improving the use experience. At Kjørbo, user experiences were collected through the office link system by the office manager, who then bore witness for the users in the user forums that guided the work of the running-in team. This provided a unique data source for detecting the comfort threshold. When complaints started to come in, they could be addressed quickly - either through informing about the reasons or through actual technical fixes. According to our informants, at the time of the interviews, as issues were picked up, negotiated and solved, complaints began to disappear.
2. Introduction
This report accounts for the experiences of central actors in the design, construction and running in period of the office renovation project at Powerhouse Kjørbo (PH Kjørbo).
John Law (2000) makes a case for understanding sociotechnical systems in a relational manner as composed by heterogeneous networks of different but interconnected technologies, people, and materials that all have the potential to affect each other’s functions. If we take a building’s energy performance, for instance, it is not only composed of the interactions between the many different technologies, materials, and designs that make out the building’s physical appearance, its performance will in most cases be also profoundly influenced by how it is operated and used.
According to Law, the opposite of such a relational perspective assumes a functionalistic, pre- determined understanding of technology in which existing elements are plumbed together without producing any value that is larger than the sum of its parts. It is no coincidence that such an
understanding assumes that users have fixed “preferences” and “behaviour” that is stable and not easily changed by experiences with the building or any other condition for that matter. In Law’s words this bereaves us not only of “creative possibilities” (ibid:8) that lie in the acceptance of mutual interaction between users, building, sun, rain, work culture, etc., it also misunderstands the nature of technologies that are - whether their designers want it or not - placed in a web of relations that produce its effects together.
While all this may sound abstract at first, as we will argue in the following, PH Kjørbo’s key to success was that it harvested the benefits of a relational approach in building design and construction.
But before we come back to this point in the last part of the conclusion, the first part of this report follows the design and construction process leading up to the finished state. Establishing a continuous narrative from design phase to finished building, it takes a closer look at the design and pre-project phase as well as the detailing and execution phase. The second part of this report examines the result as built, which at the time of inquiry had seen eight months of running-in operation since commissioning.
To understand what has happened in these distinct phases, in the following the theoretical framework of domestication theory is employed. Before continuing with the empirical findings, a brief look at this theoretical tool as well as an overview of methods will be provided.
3. Theoretical framework: Domestication
Buildings are not static components removed from the passage of time, the context of their existence, their designers’ idea of the intended users or their activities or, indeed, the actual users and their constant negotiations with the building. Robert Bye (2008) notes that the word building is both a verb and a noun and therefore well captures the insight into how to view a building as an ongoing process (Bye 2008: 12). In his book “How buildings learn”, Stewart Brand (1995) shows how buildings go through large changes in their lifetimes. These changes can be manifested through simple re-purposing of rooms, rebuilding, renovation, and the addition of annexes or other user adaptations. Brand claims that the flexibility of a building is determined in the design phase. In this sense, the design phase can be viewed as avoiding a prediction of the building’s use and users. Like Bye Brand maintains that these predictions are necessarily problematic exactly because of the changing nature of a building and its uses. Bye argues that not accounting for a mismatch between design and use invites the view of technological determinism in which users are expected to passively adapt to a technology’s inscribed
“script” (Bye 2008: p. 12-13). Such a focus on process and change leads to a more active user role.
Viewed from this perspective, the building is never truly complete. Instead, the building-user relationship is a process of learning in which different skill sets develop and changes in the relationship between professionals (e.g. operators), users and buildings occur (Bye 2008). Therefore, buildings are objects that are being constantly interpreted in new ways, which makes them a subject of changing narrative understandings and representations (Gieryn 2002).
A theory of human-technology-interaction that incorporates this symbolic dimension as well as practical and cognitive aspects has been proposed under the name domestication. As can readily be grasped from the word itself, domestication theory is about the process of taming, understood originally as bringing something into the fold of the domestic sphere. In the late 1980s, it was first employed by Roger Silverstone et al. (1992) in his studies of media consumption. Part of a turn away from simplistic
“what the media does to people” models, Silverstone and his colleagues sought an understanding of users’ relationship with media technologies that more resembled active use than passive consumption.
This provides users with agency of their own, a useful antidote for our immediate understanding of users as victims of, for instance, “bad performance” of technology (Berker 2011) or, in successful instances, as fortunate - but passive - beneficiaries of cunning design.
This is not to say that technologies are not influential in most of our undertakings. They are appropriated and integrated more or less pervasively in the seamless web (Hughes 1988) that constitutes everyday life in modern societies. In a similar vein, in the concept of domestication, the conjoining of users with technological artefacts is characterised by reciprocity; users form relationships with the technologies they use (Lie and Sørensen 1996). The term “everyday life” indicates a recurring context in which the use occurs, which itself is constituted by activities that contribute re-productive and stabilising forces.
This way of understanding the relationships between users and artefacts may become especially useful in instances where designers “miss” their target and technology consequently “fails.” These can then be cases of failed domestication, where, for several reasons, users may have “failed” to reproduce the specific use design of the object, or what is often referred to in Science and Technology Studies (and elsewhere) as “script” (M. Akrich 1992). Understanding technologies as containing within them, much like a text, the instructions and explanations for their own interpretation leads to a view in which the designer presents to the user an ideally “adequate puzzle” that is solvable which then results in “correct”
use (Woolgar 1991). In successful “readings” of a technology, the intended use on the part of the designer is what is also understood by the user. Domestication theory deviates from this view by extending on the “reading” activity on the side of the user. Instead of finding users eagerly deciphering how artefacts are used in the “correct” way a much more common use pattern follows Hirschman’s (1970) categories of “exit”, “voice”, and also “loyalty” (to the script). Following Akrich (1995) Berker
(2011) maintains that as design contains “user representations”, i.e. ideas about how the user looks like and what s/he does, it is necessarily subject to users’ negotiations and may even meet outright
opposition and that mismatches between design and use context are common. Such a mismatch, however, is not the same as a bad use experience; good results may still be achieved because of this space for negotiation opened up by inadequate scripts.
Empirical studies of domestication processes have shown the importance of practical aspects related to the technology as well as cognitive and symbolic aspects of use. Negotiations between users and technology happen within these three domains. In the symbolic domain, a higher (order) “value” may be attached to the use of the object, which is capable, in some instances, of conveying parts of the users’
identities to their surroundings. Practical aspects address the actual use of a technology, its practical workings and how they fit into existing practices (or not). Finally, cognitive aspects are related to learning, how and in what ways users are given a chance to get to know a technology, how they come to learn or teach themselves or each other, how to use it - and, of course, whether learning occurs at all (Holtan 2005, 47).
4. Methods
The second part of this report is based on seven expert interviews with a total of eight respondents conducted at PH Kjørbo with seven employees from Asplan Viak and a facilities manager from Entra, all of whom were involved with the running-in period and provided to the project by Asplan Viak staff.
These interviews were conducted by William Throndsen and Espen Knoll face to face during the fall of 2014, when the running-in period had been going on for approximately eight months. Representation was provided by two administration staffers (i3 and i4), two consulting engineers (i1 and i6), one facilities manager (i8), an architect (i7), and two executive officers (i2 and i5).
An additional twelve interviews, 10 of which were included in the report, were conducted by William Throndsen in the spring of 2015 to shed light on design and construction phase. Representatives from Entra (building owner, respondent i18), Asplan Viak (the tenant, providing consulting engineers on the project, respondent i12), ZERO (environmental NGO, respondent i10), Skanska (contractor,
respondents i11, i14, i19, and i20) and Snøhetta (architects, respondents i15 and i17) were all collected through referrals from earlier respondents and subsequently interviewed by phone.
The duration of each interview was approximately one hour. Interviews were recorded and transcribed, and all quotes were translated from Norwegian to English by the authors.
5. Part 1: The co-construction of a Powerhouse
The work that initially was begun by the Powerhouse collaboration revolved around shaping a concept and defining how an energy-plus house could actually be accomplished. There was agreement in the initial process that the goals should be “astronomical” and that reaching the goals would require a process that was “especially designed” (i10). This was explained by a project manager from a not-for- profit zero emissions organisation, who elaborated,
“[…] that has been the basis all along; at least, there have been discussions continuously about how we should understand and resolve our own ambitions. For instance, there is nothing, or there was nothing in the original goal about… well, it stated that it was going to be a plus house, but there was nothing there about how to achieve net plus.” (i10)
He continues:
“We had theories that this was the only way in which to achieve it: put in place ambitions which were so tall that they seemed unattainable almost, to force us to find different ways of doing things” (i10).
This adequately describes the first challenge presented by the design phase of “the” Powerhouse.
Definitions and rules about the requirements of reaching the ambitions and how to achieve them would need to be solved beforehand. For instance, should it be a zero-emission building or a plus house? If choosing the latter, how would it reach net plus? There are many ways to negate emissions, but in the case of a Powerhouse, it was a high priority not to generate them at all. To escape the conundrum of negative emissions, calculating with energy was chosen instead. The stricter the method for approving what would be count as a contribution towards net plus, the more complex the task would become. To make an energy-plus house from scratch, it is necessary to begin by setting some rules.
5.1 The design (pre-project) phase
From the beginning, energy calculations served as the main foundation for the entire concept. A
definition of the concept was provided by a senior advisor for the contractor, who also served the project as the designated BREEAM accredited personnel (AP) and whose job it was to ensure that the many activities in the project at all times were geared towards fulfilling the many targets required by BREEAM to reach the “Outstanding” certification:
“The overall definition is that a Powerhouse a building that during its life-cycle produces more renewable energy than it consumes for production of building materials, construction, operation and demolition of the building.” (i14)
This generates many caveats. For instance, energy produced off site, such as a nearby wind energy farm, cannot be considered because it is not part of the project. For a production facility to be considered eligible to deliver energy into the energy calculation, it needs to be close by. The solar panels serving PH Kjørbo are placed on top of a conjoining garage, and the heat pumps utilise the fjord that lies adjacent. The energy spent in producing these facilities needs to be included. In short,
everything that is done and built in a Powerhouse project consumes energy and represents a quantity of embedded energy that is already consumed and that must be counted and accounted for. This means that an equivalent of this one-time consumption has to be compensated for by the on-site production of renewable energy over time. The question thus becomes where to set the line for what consumption to take responsibility for.
An answer for the equation, the sum of energy consumed and produced, already existed. The goal that was set provided a number (kWh/m2/year) that represented the acceptable limit of bought energy over the designated life span of 60 years. This meant that the remaining math consisted of a calculation of the impact of the many sources of energy consumption in the project, which formed the basis of material choices (both regarding production and consumption) that in sum would need to stay below the limit.
Further compounding this task was the question of what number to attach to energy consumption sources because asking such questions would be entering into the murky depths of life-cycle analysis.
This resulted in a necessary work requirement, the creation of an artefact, or boundary object, in the shape of the energy account, that had to be consulted at every turn to control the overall impact on it by all material additions. For instance, when adding some pillars, what would be the impact in terms of energy consumed (and thus the energy footprint) of choosing pillars made of steel versus wood? The information and work requirement of providing detailed information from producers about the energy cost of their materials to measure their impact in the overall energy account thus arose, constituting the energy account as the boundary object of this project.
The task proved difficult as many producers are unaccustomed to providing this type of information (i.e., it is not in demand). When the information does not exist, it needs to be established from generic values or national databases that “might not be representative at all” (i14). As admitted by an architect, “These models, as I understand them, are theoretical assumptions […], it’s not an exact science, so you have to take your departure point in what is the best possible judgement or knowledge as of today” (i15).
Therefore, much of this information is based on assumptions. However, in terms of achieving some goals, if they are strict assumptions, they may produce something rather than nothing:
“[…] materials weren’t calculated by bought energy, which is common today, […] it included a so-called primary energy factor, which is the energy that’s been consumed by obtaining the energy carriers. […] Our entire energy account needed to be converted with the primary energy factor; that is […], when we calculate electricity it’s not just the amount of kWhs that have been paid for […], we include all the energy that was spent producing coal power, gas power, hydro power, nuclear power […] the composition of the electricity production in Europe towards 2070.” (i14)
As the complete energy consumption of the building site and subsequent operation was necessary to take into account, energy goods produced or consumed by PH Kjørbo within its lifespan needed to be converted by the primary energy factor. As mentioned, a considerable amount of bound energy had gone into the on-site solar plant. If the bound energy was included in the energy account there, it had to be included for other production capacities as well to ensure the internal consistency of the account.
The primary energy factor thus included extrapolative scenarios for Europe in the years to come, future changes in energy composition, and the energy consumed in producing relevant power plants and the extraction of their combustible resources. At the time of writing, the result of this accumulative work was a primary energy factor of 3.5 - that is, that 1 kWh bought equals approximately 3.5 kWh of primary energy.
5.2 The energy account as centre of collaboration
The reason for this rather lengthy introduction to the work of the Powerhouse collaboration in the design phase, with the primary energy factor showcasing the comprehensiveness of the scope, is to show the intricate foundation on which the concept of a Powerhouse energy-plus house is based. Indeed, as one of the architects explained, “Every single choice we have made has been measured by how it impacts the energy account” (i15). This marks one of the main characteristics of the PH Kjørbo project phase that makes it different from conventional building processes and will surely leave its mark on future PH projects. The energy account was given a central and authoritative part in the entire process, almost like a management tool, and has functioned, to a certain extent, as an arbiter in every question that arose in outlining the design of PH Kjørbo in the detailing and construction phases (and, as we have seen, was
instrumental in the running-in period as well). As the process manager explained, “The motivation is more about that you need a lower number. And that is more, sort of, neutral ground and a neutral field.
It’s not a case for one or another […]. It affects everyone equally” (i17). The energy account and reaching “the number” proved conducive for a collaborative effort that crossed disciplinary boundaries, which was a prerequisite for the success of the project. Figuring out the numbers represented the information needs that all parties shared. In the opinion of the architect who served as the process manager of the design and detailing phase,
“[Mainly] what has made the process in the Powerhouse projects different: the number of people and complexities and enjoyable meetings, in a way, is because everyone is a little bit on thin ice in regard to talking about their own subject area’s CO2 imprint. You might as well just admit it, that you have no idea how to handle it, so in a way no one’s going to make a fool out of themselves. If you examine how much steel actually goes into a ventilation system, you will be shocked. And so will the ventilation guys. So then suddenly it’s all the rage having as few pipes as possible. […] It sort of creates a competition for having the least amount of pipes.” (i17)
As the project manager representing the zero-emission organisation in the team iterated, a large effort was put into the design phase discussing the definition, where the level of ambition was “always kept up or made stricter, and it was out of a fear of diluting the product” (i10). The collaborative environment catered to a “competition” to provide energy-efficient solutions. On this note, the main reason PH Kjørbo has become such a formidable energy-plus building actually has very little to do with state-of-the-art technology in every subject area. The formula that was employed emphasised what could be called a holistic approach but has perhaps better been described in the above as relationally sensitive. “It’s not that we’ve invented new solutions; we’ve used known solutions […]. It’s mostly known solutions which have been put together and which have been dimensioned optimally” (i2). Instead of choosing installed systems in the design based on isolated performance criteria in each specialist area (e.g., HVAC, acoustics, electric installations), the approach emphasised the function of each part in view of the whole. Once again, quite contrary to consensus and what can better be described as a pure lack of knowledge, this information need created an understanding that collaboration was a virtue of necessity:
“No, we just understood that here we just had to deploy every specialist area, and very many of them too. We have, of course, the architect, then the energy specialists, and we have–of course we need a good indoor climate, then we have the acoustics, that’s got to do with the thermal issue, especially with the thermal mass.
We have fire, that has to do with the ventilation solutions, the open solutions, we have rigging […] it’s all so incredibly interconnected, all of this, and of course the interior has an interest, the interior architect, so it’s all very connected.” (i14)
This uncommon mode of designing buildings was explained by several of the informants from the project team as an interdisciplinary effort. Beginning with so many new problem questions imposed the realisation that “a bigger meeting was needed” (i17) and that this would cost money, for which someone with high ambitions was needed “to go all in” (i17). As an executive with the tenant emphasised, “It’s in the whole concept, how it’s been thought out and followed through, which is where the innovation here lies” (i5). To achieve this, the entire process, from the design phase to the detailing and construction of the project, required all the key members of the project team to work in tandem on all the solutions - at least when they related to other systems. As another executive with the tenant who now occupies PH Kjørbo explained, the symbolic aspects of PH Kjørbo were a driving force for those involved in accepting the new work ordering:
“[…] everyone have been more concerned about achieving a certain level in the project. They have been more concerned with that than catering for one’s own interests. That is to say, the collaboration effort here has been unique. From the building owner to the contractor, from architects to consulting engineers […]
everyone’s been interested in making the project happen. And to say it crudely, the money has been counted at the end.” (i2)
Usually such processes are managed sequentially, starting with a building owner programming the project followed by architects who are included for drawings. After a while, technical consulting
engineers detail solutions before a contractor is hired to execute the building. When realising PH Kjørbo, all of these actors were engaged simultaneously in the design phase, and many of them were involved in the execution phase and beyond. As the executive explained, this way of focusing on the overarching goal in concert is sometimes called
“[…] the cathedral effect. A well-known story about two masons who are asked what they are doing: one of them says he’s laying bricks, and the other says ‘I’m building a cathedral’. And they’re doing the same job, right? And there’s something about that, that here we’re building a Powerhouse, and that has made everyone oriented towards building a Powerhouse. That is what we’re doing.” (i2)
To enable and support this collaboration, several workshops led by a senior architect functioning as a process manager were convened in the first days of the Powerhouse collaboration as part of the work method for defining the gist of what a Powerhouse should be. As explained initially, this was a venue where headroom was tall and many actors were involved. As a project manager with the contractor explained, this “was where the project was created […] a quantum leap compared to each sitting at their own desk writing some premise note, which was never lifted up or considered interdisciplinary” (i20).
Some 25-30 participants participated in the first sessions, including guests from research and academia.
This was the natural way to begin work and establish trust: “[the] building owner and contractor needed to clarify risk [distribution]; […] we thought we would be building something which did not exist and which many thought wasn’t even possible to realise” (i10). In a straightforward, conventional
construction process, space is “made to accommodate some kind of standard HVAC system” (i14), and the HVAC engineer comes in sometime after the building is mostly detailed to implement some standard system with its many channels and shafts going in wherever there is room. What they then experience is that “90% of the premise [for their work] has already been made” (i17). In PH Kjørbo, this kind of thinking was turned upside down. This was reflected in the priorities at the workshops: “the first meeting was about where to put the mechanical room […], and the architect was sewn around [the rest of it]”
(i14).
Initially at such workshops, questions may be posed by some of the participants, as they are not used to this kind of work in construction projects. A chief consulting engineer with the contractor said,
“Objections always come up when you start having workshops in order to build houses and stuff, and how that’s considered by some as a waste of time” (i14). However, as the problems with conventional building styles are approached by a zero-emissions researcher pointing to, for instance, the vast amounts of embedded energy contained within the above-mentioned spiro-tubing and the extensive thermal capabilities of exposed concrete, the reason for the presence of a representative of the acoustic discipline will materialise:
“[…] choices we usually just make out of technical or economic considerations suddenly develop a broadside. However, when those broadsides materialise in a way, those folks who will be affected by it need to be in the room, right? In order to gain that experience for themselves given that this isn’t how decisions usually are made. […] So if that acoustician is left being allowed nothing with which to regulate the acoustics and has no idea why we’ve put such a straitjacket around the assignment, then that person won’t be especially inspired to solve it.” (i17)
In the judgement of the process manager, “It’s time consuming in the first phase, but I think you regain it by setting the most important premises early on, and in that way the time after the detailing phase won’t be so demanding” (i17). Moreover, this negotiation is an example of the cognitive aspects of the domestication of these project participants of the object they are about to design. Learning about the conditions for the design becomes relevant in this case as the consulting engineer has become the
“user” who needs to accept them. The level of interdisciplinary work seemed to have a refreshing effect
on the project team, who stated that they felt a greater sense of respect for each other’s work and that the separate specialist areas achieved a more naturally interwoven state, a “complete necessity when you need to innovate and find good solutions” (i19). The process manager made the following point:
“This becomes very clear when you realise we are all just as interested in building, and we are just as highly educated. And we all share a common goal to deliver first class every time if the framework for it is present […] This isn’t the normal way of doing things. However, that isn’t because we don’t want to work like that, it’s because it’s expensive to work like that.” (i17)
5.3 The detailing (project) phase
A great advantage for the PH Kjørbo project was that it benefited from having emerged from the working environment hitherto described and brought with it most of the same people. This wellspring of
comprehensive planning work and know-how that was created in the initial Powerhouse project (Meistad and Strand 2013) should not be underestimated in considering the particularities of Kjørbo’s success:
“[…] it was a collaboration which was well established when departing from Powerhouse Brattørkaia [Powerhouse One], and the team consisted of many of the same people. So the development of Kjørbo was based on the experiences on Brattørkaia, and of course we held interdisciplinary workshops at Kjørbo.” (i19)
The closeness of the PH Kjørbo project with the initial birth and definition of the overall goals of the Powerhouse collaboration most likely benefited the design phase substantially. In fact, the transition from one to the other can be difficult to trace exactly. However, when the project moved closer to the built product, the closeness of some actors with the concept of the Powerhouse gradually began to erode, and some problems were introduced as more personnel who were more or less familiar with the project were involved in the construction phase. The technical architect with the main contractor described it as difficult to bring new people on board who were unfamiliar with the overarching
ambitions: “It’s hard when not everybody understands what they have to deliver [… and] you won’t get a plumber to read the energy account” (i11). Bringing everyone on board with the “spirit” of the project - and, in fact, translating to them the symbolic gravity of the concept and ambition - proved difficult as the distance between many of the outlying personnel and the core of the Powerhouse project increased.
“A lot was sitting in the heads of those who had been part of the development [of the design of the Powerhouse concept]. That is to say, not everything could… we were supposed to document everything in writing, right? And then we were connected with a new team in the detailing phase [of PH Kjørbo], and they kind of just took the report and expected that in it was everything they needed to know. […] Not all the conceptual solutions were fully understood. So there a lot could have been gained.” (i19)
As a project manager explained, the construction project phase “suffered” from this; they “had not defined thoroughly enough exactly what it was they were building. […] Compared to what was going to be built, the level of detailing was way too low” (i20). This “created miscommunication in a way about what parts we were confident in - what do we know is good enough of what is there, and what do we need to clear up further” (i20). The project was initially unsuccessful in even getting an HVAC contractor on board who was willing to take the financial risks associated with the function of the designed
ventilation and its uncommon pressure drop rates and other untested solutions, such as the lack of panel ovens underneath windows. The project manager said, “Call it belt and braces which you have in any project, but here we had removed them entirely….”
“The lack of understanding was there among many, as well as the scepticism towards the solutions. […] An energy project was laid to ground which everyone had seen and said, ‘OK, we’re good with this’, where we had made some calculations: the theoretical temperature loss isn’t higher, we built a climate envelope that is that tight, we have such good windows that ‘the draft you’re talking about, it won’t be there,’ we don’t need that panel oven […] That way of thinking is hard for people to take responsibility for. They don’t believe; ‘Are
someone else needs to take responsibility.’ […] They won’t take responsibility for the entire function: ‘We’ll give you ventilation, but I can’t guarantee the temperature will stay within 22-26 degrees’.” (i20)
Many of the subcontractors who were invited to deliver to the project declined initially on the basis that they did not accept the specifications they were asked to deliver. Thus, they were reluctant to deliver the solutions that were specified and provide guarantees for their function in the finished state. Simply put, they did not believe in the concept. The novelty of these solutions and the number of unknowns they represent compared to the tried and true represented an enormous friction among the main contractor, consulting engineers, and risk-averse subcontractors.
“We had made lots of calculations beforehand. The market didn’t believe us; no one did. When I ran procurement, they didn’t believe me that it would work. That people were going to freeze and sweat and that system [the low energy HVAC] wouldn’t work. The biggest contractor didn’t want to come along at all because they thought it wasn’t going to work.” (i11)
This is unsurprising from the point of view of a domestication framework as these “calculations” were fruit of a learning process for the project team of which the subcontractors in question were never a part.
It was a general admission among many of the respondents that the overlap between the design phase, with its ardent focus on interdisciplinary workshops and collaboration, went astonishingly well, but when the execution phase and construction of the building ensued, things were allowed to fall into the pattern of a conventional building project. Here, subcontractors were purchased for the project at a late stage, some with the impression that it would be a business-as-usual type of project. This led them astray in their own initial design work on PH Kjørbo, causing the need for order changes and extra work to get the project back in line with the original design.
“It was well coordinated, very well coordinated, at least up until and including the pre-project. However, from the detailing phase of the project, we learned that we drove away a bit, in the traditional fashion, but we weren’t actually finished… completely finished that is. When the pre-project was over, it was over because there was a date set. And it’s been a lesson for us; we can’t let go of the collaboration too early and let the specialists drive away individually. We were not finished.” (i14)
The last stages of the project lacked the same kind of comprehensive oversight that was characteristic of the design phase:
“In the transition from the design and pre-project phase into the detailing phase, we stopped having a process manager, and we transitioned to a more traditional construction process in which the contractor usually sits with the technical project manager handling the technical specialists” (i15). The other role for which the process manager still could have proved useful was “communicating with the subcontractors […and explaining to them] what they were in on. That was kind of the weak link here” (i15).
Eventually, the problems produced could not be handled sufficiently in time, and several errors had already been produced. This could have been because of a lack of subcontractors’ comprehension of the project or, as some respondents also suspected, a lack of energy-related competence due to a lack of experience. After all, the exceptional scope of the project would require capabilities to deliver above and beyond a conventional market situation - an impossible task without the relevant experience. At any rate, it is evident that little space was provided in the project to allow subcontractors to domesticate the concept of PH Kjørbo at this point as they had not been given any insight into the underlying premises of the design. They were completely incapable of grasping the project.
Another contributing factor that made these challenges even more difficult to resolve after they were discovered was the contractual frameworks that were employed in the relationship between contractor and subcontractor.
“What I experienced maybe was that [the main contractor who] purchased their technical subcontractors, that is, on electric, piping, and ventilation and the like, was that I don’t think those actors which were purchased really got what kind of building, what kind of project they were in on here, was my feeling. [The main contractor] was on the ball, absolutely, but they purchased their suppliers in a little… in a kind of traditional manner, in a fixed price contract with them. I don’t think that was very fortunate. I don’t think the technical subcontractors realised that this was a special project that had some quite unusual goals.” (i18)
In this technical consultant’s opinion, this lack of understanding of the project’s greater goals led them to
“make quick solutions, and not optimal solutions, in some systems.” However, under a fixed price, turnkey type contract framework, the supply side would have to deliver according to specifications a solution the function of which they would be able to guarantee. If the actual cost of the project is underestimated at that point, any extra cost will reduce the supplier’s profit. Quite clearly, the lack of knowledge could have made some subcontractors underestimate their costs going into this project.
Subsequently realising their error, subcontractors were dis-incentivised by the fixed price contract framework from changing their stance towards a project that was already underway. A continued unwillingness to change their position endured even after clear cases of the project goals had been made. In spite of the special circumstance of the project, putting the cheapest solution in place in the shortest possible time can be argued, from a market logic standpoint, to be a perfectly reasonable way to proceed given the contractual framework, especially when combined with an absence of an
understanding of the project’s realities.
Furthermore, the technical consulting engineers for each specialist area, who were previously integral to the project design, were finally “delivered” to the subcontractors, meaning they were removed from the project design and pre-project team and placed below their relevant subcontractors in the
detailing/execution phase. This created integrity issues for the consulting engineers, who now were placed between a rock and a hard place: beneath the subcontractors in the chain of command but, due to their extensive expertise in the design and their closeness to the project and the contractor, ill-suited for carrying anyone’s water. This ostensibly constituted of a loyalty conflict when discussions about the inevitable order changes ensued between the main contractor and the subcontractors, to whom the consulting engineers were expected to defer in their delivered capacity.
This was especially evident for one of the electrical consulting engineers, here referring to the electrical systems installation, perhaps the specialised domain that was most poorly detailed when subcontractors began its design: “The setting was thus that it was us who made the demand specification for the building owner, and which was the foundation for the electrical contract. Later on, we were directly subordinated the [electrical] subcontractor. And the reality is that not all contractors are as specifically competent on lighting and control which was in demand on this project.” (i12)
This resulted in the necessity of much coordination between the contractor and the user group (subcontractors) of the tenant. As we have seen, fixed price turnkey contracts make it difficult to carry out order changes after the fact because the prices (i.e., suppliers’ profits) are fixed. Demanding changes to be made in the design increases the cost of the project for the subcontractor. However, when design had already been drawn and procurement processes initiated, order changes were needed for the project to get back onto the track from which it had departed. As the consulting engineer bluntly stated: “It’s hard to make gold out of stone. […] I was placed in a position which could be perceived by others as if I was wearing several different hats at once. The turnkey contract model is demanding because suppliers are out after their money rather than creating new solutions. It’s cheaper to put in place old and familiar solutions.” (i12)
5.4 A case for a different contract framework when piloting
Contractual frameworks prove important for the possible execution of a project in the end as they determine the various aspects of cost and profit. In the case of the main contractor, it was engaged by the building owner in what is called a cost-plus contract, in which a set cost is provided in addition to an extra fee. This is, traditionally speaking, a better contract for innovation cases because the added fee alleviates some of the risk averseness that would arise in the face of uncertainty. The main contractor identified risks on its part and had to issue some reservations to the owner concerning project delivery.
As a project manager said, “It’s about getting to the bottom of it all with a building cost that’s OK.
Because, we’d love to take the risk, but we will have to price that risk, and then stuff gets expensive”
(i20). The overall contract regime thus ended up looking something like this:
“The HVAC entrepreneur made reservations towards us [the general contractor], we had reservations with [the building owner], and [the building owner] was left with the risk […] They paid us the cost plus a small fee, which incentivised our reaching some agreements about certain target goals in the project, instead of us ending up with a fee, on top of a fee, on top of a fee, due to someone saying no, I’m uncertain about that solution, therefore I’ll estimate in a fee. And we’ll estimate in a fee, and then it gets really expensive. In this way this is a good way to test new solutions. [The building owner] was willing to take the risk, but they weren’t willing to pay us for taking the risk.” (i20)
In this sense, the main contractor was engaged in a collaborative contract framework with the building owner. Lower down in the “food chain,” however, the subcontractors were more or less engaged in fixed price, turnkey contracts with the main contractor. It was suggested by several informants that some of the issues that arose during the execution phase due to poor detailing (as well as the added cost of re- ordering) may have been avoided had the subcontractors entered into a collaborative contract
framework earlier. An earlier placement of knowledgeable consulting engineers at subcontractors end, although pricey, could have been exploited to the subcontractors’ benefit instead of becoming for them simply a bearer of bad tidings.
“Of course, they may have felt we were going into the unknown and taking a larger risk than they were willing to. It may be they would have felt that they were more comfortable also with a kind of collaborative contract in a way to get to the finish line. However, we didn’t do that this time. […] They were handled with turnkey contracting. And then they made their reservations, delivered functions according to spec”. (i20)
For instance, finally solving the ventilation issue, the HVAC supplier was allowed a reservation regarding the function of their delivery even though it was delivered according to specifications. A project engineer stated, “That enabled them to deliver what we in fact asked them to. If not, it would have in a way… what would the price have been if they were to be held accountable for that?” (i20).
Apparently, this was a case where the contractor took the risk and trusted the supplier to deliver to specification even without the guarantee.
The choice of fixed price contracts with elements of collaboration could be one way to address the higher than usual amount of uncertainty in projects such as this and allow social learning to occur lower down the food chain. As proven by the PH Kjørbo project, handing out fixed cost contracts to junior contractors with little experience could become expensive as well. The extensive planning and design phases in the remaining project likely provided an important foundation for social learning and
domesticating the concept, thus providing the necessary basis for the realisation of the project. The alternative for disallowing for subcontractors to learn about such out of the ordinary projects is a higher level of detailing. As the consulting engineer on the electrical side explained:
“We had the impression this could have been done in a different way, […] a 3420 description [NS 3420 comprises a complete system for describing and calculating construction work, including technical installations] where you’ve actually kneaded it all out, you’ve finished it beforehand. Here, you had a performance description where the contractors were supposed to contribute by finishing the design based on
performance. And it’s not given that, for instance, the electrical contractor would enter into such a project again based on a fixed price contract if the performance descriptions are unclear. So that’s a challenge, making that kind of a building with fixed price contracting. Maybe it would have been better to have a collaborative contract, for instance.” (i12)
As the above respondent iterated, no one likes the “uncertainties” that this allows for, but sometimes
“you don’t necessarily know 100% where you’re going either.” A bad combination of not knowing one’s destination and fixed contracts resulted in “a whole heap of additions and order changes” (i12). The time for learning in a fixed contract is never.
Finally, as one technical project manager with the contractor explained, in the construction business “it gets expensive when you let loose a junior too early, and that’s been done in some areas of execution in this project as well,” but “you can’t use a senior for everything; they need to provide the training on it”
(i11). Clearly, senior contractors and other experienced actors have a responsibility for developing their own market of suppliers. Undoubtedly, this is a much better solution than doing all the work for them. As the project manager said, “It’s up to us as a main contractor to make them better” (i11). In a
collaborative framework, added cost on paper makes it look less attractive along that one axis, but it can help subcontractors get up to speed early and avoid having to make order changes. The added value of increased energy building competences is one way to incentivise subcontractors and contractors alike for the extra work and lower the long-term cost of these types of frameworks as well. Developing their market for subcontractors is in the interest of main contractors as well and is a value to which an economic value can be attached - albeit indirectly and across a longer time span.
6. Part 2: User acceptance, expectations and negotiations Eight months after moving into their new house, the team responsible for the running-in period of Powerhouse Kjørbo, composed of representatives from the tenant, the building owner, and relevant contractors, had received a number of complaints by employees regarding building conditions thus far.
None of these complaints was fatal; they were mostly comfort issues regarding the lighting system, some slight temperature fluctuations experienced as a slight chill in the first floor areas, and the acoustic quality of the landscape areas. The following will provide a description of the way these issues were experienced by the staff working on the running-in phase, the way the complaints were received (and perceived), and the way they were resolved. A subsequent inquiry into the creation of the conditions that led to these issues will be made and how they may have been avoided (in the opinion of experts) by considering some experiences during the design and detailing phases of the building.
6.1 Lights
The first example of the tension created between the user experience and the novel engineering
methods in PH Kjørbo was in regard to the lighting system. The issues had arisen from tension between an energy-saving ambition and the produced quality of lighting. The problems were perceived thusly by an engineer in the running-in period:
“I wouldn’t say it’s not working, but it’s limping a bit. […] It shuts off in a somewhat untimely fashion because it does not detect that there are people in the areas. This is partially due to the placement of sensors and partially perhaps that there are too few sensors in those areas. However, that is, of course, a decision about optimising and reducing energy spending on lights. […] [T]his needs to be accepted if one has ambitions to use less energy. […]” (i1)
In terms of results of the energy situation, at the point of inquiry, energy use spent on lighting had been measured at “somewhat above expected levels” (i1). The energy targets continued to guide the running- in period at this point, but there was also an understanding of the tension this caused for the user experience, as explained here by the tenants’ electrical consulting engineer, who was working on the lighting system:
“[There has] been much work afterwards with the lighting system in order to achieve close to exact energy consumption of the lights. And this is connected to the number of sensors and the user’s experience of the automatic light control. Because the user should not have to experience that the light goes off when they’re at their workplace.” (i12)
As mentioned, this was considered work in progress, and the goal of the running-in phase was to achieve both energy savings and a problem-free user experience. An office administrator explained how this problem was handled on the technical side:
“There are too few sensors compared to how the lights should switch off. It’s supposed to be as little light as defensible, really. And some of the programming is not good enough […], so now we have taken some measures temporarily. We have increased the intervals for when the lights switch off according to movement so that the employees won’t have a situation where it gets dark while they are working.” (i3)
A temporary adjustment was made when the system was unable to deliver satisfactory results to avoid interrupting employees while working. After consulting with a lighting professional, it was determined that 45 minutes of inactivity before shut off would be sufficient “as you’d need to get a coffee and move around a bit, and if they don’t move around for 45 minutes, they should” (i3). This was most likely a relief for employees as the auto-off setting was set at a rather ambitious seven minutes of inactivity.
